Broken
by Mjjfan10
Summary: Uhh T for alchohal refrences? I have no idea. Uh short summary: Harry is down and out in Diagon Alley when someone surprising comes to his aid. Contains: Minor book 7 spoilers, not so implied.. yet slash. More to come Hopefully. xD


**Okay guys, so I am back. And no, I wasn't dead. xD I was just so busy… It's kind of funny, the day I finally had enough brain power to actually start something constructive, was my b-day. /shot**

**Anyhow… Enjoy! Contains: I guess (not really implied at all) slash (not **_**yet, **_**that is) and minor plot spoilers from book 7!**

Harry Potter had not fared well at the so-called "Final Battle of Hogwarts." True, he had finally vanquished one of the most feared dark wizards of all time. True, he had saved the whole wizarding world. However, the renewed attention proved too much for him.

Harry had been used to public scrutiny for as long as he could remember; who could forget the strangely-dressed people pressing their faces against muggle shop windows, just to get a glimpse of "The Boy Who Lived?" Or the time when the Daily Prophet had turned him into the poster child for people with mental conditions? Yes, Harry was certainly immune to public scrutiny.

…Or so he thought. But, alas, even the great Harry Potter stumbled sometimes. Or perhaps, fell flat on his face.

It had been over half a year since the battle of Hogwarts, and there he was: the wizarding world's saviour… Sprawled outside of the seediest pub in all of Diagon Alley, an empty bottle of Firewhisky clutched in his hand, too drunk to even think about apparition.

Of course, people whispered as they passed by the dreadful figure, slumped against the side of the dirty building. "What a waste!" One witch said to her friend, glancing at Harry disdainfully, "you would think our saviour would have more class!"

Harry's eyes flicked open for a split second, his brain taking several seconds to process what the witch had said. Of course, by the time he came up with a decent retort, the witch and her friend were nowhere in sight.

Sighing, Harry brought the bottle of Firewhisky to his lips once more, draining the bottle of the few drops that were still clung to its bottom. Groaning slightly, Harry tossed the bottle aside, listening as it clinked along across the cobblestoned street.

What now? Too drunk to get back into the pub, kicked out by his girlfriend, not a single knut left on his person… What _was_ there left for him to do? Of course, he wasn't _completely_ down-and-out, he still had that small fortune his parents had left him; although, like everything else in his life, even that seemed to be slowly spiraling down the drain.

Hiccupping slightly, and using the wall as a support, Harry managed to pull himself to his feet. Swaying slightly, Harry stumbled over to a nearby trashcan, vomiting atop the piles of empty butterbeer bottles and empty candy wrappers that lay inside. Wiping his mouth with the back of his already filthy sleeve, Harry stumbled back to his spot on the wall, falling into a drunken heap.

It was only when he heard a sharp, cold voice that his drunken stupor was broken, "Well, well, what have we here?"

Temporarily speechless that anybody had bothered to address him directly, Harry stared at the ground, his mind in a daze.

"My face is up here, Potter," said the voice frostily.

Harry, slowly glanced up at the figure standing in front of him, as if the voice wasn't familiar enough. "What do you want, Malfoy…?" Harry slurred, "Come to make fun of 'The Boy Who Lived?'"

"That… Was not my intention, I was merely passing by." Malfoy said coldly , shifting his weight to his emerald encrusted walking stick.

Harry snorted, "Glad to see you got that thing fixed. How much did you bribe Ollivander for a new wand, hmm? Or is that thing just for show?"

Malfoy's silvery eyes narrowed, "You certainly aren't in any position to be making insults, are you Potter?"

Harry laughed loudly, and fumbled around in his robes for a few seconds before drawing his wand, "Want to finish that sentence?" Harry asked, his arm unable to hold his wand steady.

Malfoy sneered, "…That is if you're _sober_ enough to cast a spell."

Frustrated, Harry fired off several curses at Malfoy, all missing by several meters.

Malfoy just laughed humourlessly, "I see your aim has improved, Potter."

"Shut up…" Harry slurred, a headache now pounding away inside of his head, "Why are you here, anyways? Come to laugh? Well do it! Laugh away!" Harry stood up, legs shaking, his vision swimming.

"I can assure you, that was not my intention coming here," Malfoy said sharply, glaring at Harry, his hand tightening on his walking stick.

Harry snorted, swaying even more, everything in sight spinning. "Sure…" Harry's voice laced with sarcasm, "I bet you…" Unable to finish his sentence, Harry collapsed, falling to the ground in an alcohol-induced sleep, his wand rolling from his hand.

Lucius Malfoy reached down, his gloved hand picking up Harry's wand, "Tsk! What a shame…" He muttered to himself before gently taking hold of Harry's arm and appariting away.


End file.
